


A Step Closer

by gotfanfiction



Series: One and then Two and then Three [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: And Ye Olde Sex Toys, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Featuring: Gross Depression Beard, Fluff and Angst, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, One-Sided Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, There is a lot of jizz here, Trans Character, Trans Jaskier | Dandelion, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotfanfiction/pseuds/gotfanfiction
Summary: He would remember this moment, later, remember how such a simple question cracked him open all the way through, leaving the mess of hurt and bad feelings exposed, and he would be grateful for it. It was the first step to healing.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: One and then Two and then Three [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877473
Comments: 28
Kudos: 238





	A Step Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Symbolic_Deviant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Symbolic_Deviant/gifts).



> This is the first installment of a three part requested fic, and the end goal is Eskel/Jaskier/Lambert. Everything in this was more or less made to order, with my own flair tossed in. Full disclosure, I am a cis woman, and while I was asked to write this I will absolutely understand if you back out! The last thing I want to do is make anyone uncomfortable, at least in a bad way. That being said, for those that chose to stay, enjoy! There will be more coming soon. <3

Jaskier scratched irritably at his own face, and drank some more of his absolutely vile ale. The inn took his coin, but had no need of a bard, especially not one that looked as haggard as he did. But he had a roof over his head, at least for a few nights, and he could always look for work in the morning. 

His elbow squished into something wet, and he did his best not to look too closely at whatever it was. Hopefully it was just a puddle of this outrageously terrible brew, and not any kind of bodily fluids. It was almost enough to put a man off his drink. 

Almost. 

He gestured for another, because despite the very uniquely awful flavor, it did its job. Jaskier was tipsy, veering towards drunk, and the food wasn’t near so disgusting, sitting pleasantly heavy in his belly. He very deliberately ignored the poor excuse of a minstrel set up in his corner, who was singing sad love songs, his  _ least  _ favorite at the moment, tipped his mug back and drained what he decided would be his final drink of the night.

Standing was a difficult process, not helped by the lack of light in the room, but Jaskier managed well enough; considered it a victory that he didn’t fall flat on his face. The floor sloped a bit under his feet, and he quietly cursed as he lost his balance. 

The ale had perhaps done its job too well. But still, he was upright, and not in too much danger of falling and braining himself on a table, so Jaskier privately added another success to his tally. He made his way towards the stairs, squinting in the damnably low light, eager to get to his bed, when he ran straight into someone.

A very tall, firm someone. Jaskier thought, all of a sudden, that he wasn’t too drunk for a bit of fun, his eyes caught on broad shoulders and dark hair. He knew he wasn’t exactly at his best, was suddenly grateful for the dim lighting. There was probably no forgiving his terrible scruff, but he hoped for it anyway. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Jaskier looked up from beneath his lashes; hoped the other man didn’t take offence at him or the rancid ale breath. “I can’t  _ believe _ I didn’t see you.” A hand on the stranger’s arm, a step closer, a bit of intimacy in a crowded room. Yes, he still had it.

The man’s breathing hitched, only just, only seen because Jaskier was paying very close attention to that chest. “I understand.” The stranger leaned down, oh, wasn’t he just so lovely and tall, whispered, “If you like, we can settle the matter in your room.”

Jaskier shivered at the deep rumble of a voice, so close to his ear, and he reached a hand up to cradle a jaw like he’d never seen. What a way to end a night that had started with him drowning his multitude of sorrows in alcohol. “Of course.”

*--*

He led the way, the man trailing after him, and he was getting properly excited now, so much so that as soon as he closed and locked the door behind them he kissed him. A bit of shock at the feel of lips that had such an obvious and large scar, but the man kissed him back so eagerly, and deeply, that Jaskier only pushed his body harder against him.

Eyes closed, he pulled the stranger towards the bed. His fingers scrambled to undo clasps and buttons, and goodness, there were a lot of those, weren't there? And spikes, now that he was thinking about it, and somewhere in the back of his mind a thought shivered to life. He tried to push it away, to lose himself in the moment, to feel only the hands slipping under his shirt, broad and callused and so very warm. 

What a lovely way to forget other, absolute bastards of former friends. A good roll in the hay may not cure him of his various heartbreaks, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to distract himself. To forget his pain, in the push and pull of bodies. And  _ what  _ a body, Jaskier could feel solid muscle under his hands; oh, he wanted so much to  _ touch  _ it properly, to dig in and get fucked into next week.

But Jaskier had never been very good at ignoring certain sorts of things, and he blinked his eyes open, a bit dazed from the alcohol and the kissing both, pulling away just enough to get a better look at his new friend. It was a little embarrassing, now that he was thinking of it, that he had almost no idea of what the man looked like, aside from the largeness. 

Said friend had pushed his face into Jaskier’s neck to breathe wetly into the skin there. He shuddered at the touch of teeth, at the feel of a hot tongue soothing the mild sting. The man’s doublet and shirt were hanging open, sliding down those big shoulders and it was an act of will, truly it was, to keep himself from just diving in. 

He took a big gulp of air, and pushed the stranger away, just enough to see his face. His first thought was that whatever had given the man that scar must have been painful indeed. His second was  _ Geralt.  _

Those were Witcher eyes, oh no, and Jaskier couldn’t have smothered that shriek of alarm if he’d been paid to do it. He staggered back in a panic, falling tits over elbows onto the bed, shirt and trousers tangling around his limbs to ensure maximum embarrassment. Oh, gods. Had this man known who he was?  _ Did he know Geralt, dear gods? _

He would deny the  _ very manly  _ panicked screeching and flailing until his dying day.

When he finally managed to wrestle his way out of his mangled clothes he was shocked to find the stranger, the  _ Witcher,  _ several feet away with his hands up in a gesture obviously meant to pacify. He was attempting to make himself seem smaller, which was a pose that always looked ridiculous on people that size. 

“I’m sorry, I’m very sorry,” the Witcher dropped his hands and made an attempt at closing his shirt. “I know that the scars are... terrible. You didn’t seem to mind downstairs, but I’ll go, if it’s too much.”

Jaskier was gaping in honest shock, frozen in place, but the Witcher started to set his clothes to rights, keeping the scarred half of his face turned away and oh, Jaskier was a jackass, wasn’t he? This man didn’t know him, and thought that a good look at his face and body had disgusted him and  _ now he was trying to leave, fuck _ .

“Wait!” Jaskier lept from the bed, trousers staying up by some miracle. “Don’t leave! At least tell me your name? I’m Jaskier?” He was cringing at his own awkwardness, but the Witcher had stopped getting dressed, so he couldn’t have been so bad. “I swear, it’s not that, I’m not that much of a bastard, honest, please don’t leave?”

The wary expression on the other’s face pricked at his soft spots, and he thought of how cruel people could be, and wondered how many encounters this man had had that ended before they even started. Jaskier knew, and better than most, the kind of pain a Witcher could go through, at the hands of more ordinary people.

He sat back down, feeling like an absolute heel. So much for this night being a success. So much for thinking he could have at least a few moments’ respite from the dreary life he was living. 

The bed sagged under the weight of the Witcher, who, despite any damning resemblance to his former friend, had yet to growl or gnash his teeth or even hum, the way Geralt had always done. A quiet sort of person, then. It felt peaceful, however, not like barely leashed action, soothing. 

Jaskier somehow knew that the other man, whoever he was, was simply waiting for him to speak; as he sat there his words failed him, the way they had on the mountain, the way they did whenever he set pen to paper, now. 

“So, stranger,” Jaskier wished his voice was steadier. “I suppose you’re wondering why I, uh, why I well-”

“Jumped away from me like I was on fire the moment you got a decent look at me?” The Witcher smiled, a gentle thing in spite of the scarring on his upper lip. “I suppose I’m used to it. What I’m not used to is people asking me to stay, after.”

Heat crept up his cheeks, and Jaskier had to resist the urge to scratch at his beard again. “Well. I didn’t want you to think it had anything at all to do with how you look. You’re very attractive! It’s just, uh, I’m not sure I can explain this in a way that won’t make everything worse, you know? I’m a bard; you’d think I’d be better at this kind of thing, ha. Sir- I, oh  _ really _ . ”

“Eskel.” The stra- no,  _ Eskel _ , cleared his throat. “Is it the eyes?” The smile got a bit toothy, well, toothier, the scar having twisted up part of his lip so that a bit of tooth was always exposed. “I can get a blindfold?”

Jaskier laughed, surprised. It had been some time since he’d laughed, honestly just laughed, and he owed it to Eskel to be frank, for giving him that gift. “Oh, in a way, yes, it’s the eyes. You see, I spent more than half of my life following a Witcher around, stupid in love, writing him songs and getting into trouble. He left me, not that I blame him. I was the worst thing that ever happened to him, after all.”

Eskel shifted, and that was recognition in those lovely, awful,  _ familiar _ eyes. Jaskier played with the idea of being offended that he knew of the bard that stuck to Geralt like a persistent burr, but not the name of said bard, and decided to think on it more at a later time. He could feel a sob bubbling up, he turned his head away so that if the tears welled up the man beside him wouldn’t be able to see. 

A gentle hand on his shoulder. He realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and did his best not to hunch over. “You’re talking about Geralt, aren’t you?” Eskel shifted to kneel on the floor, hands settling on Jaskier’s thighs, the touch grounding him in a way he couldn’t explain. “What has my brother done to you?”

He would remember this moment, later, remember how such a simple question cracked him open all the way through, leaving the mess of hurt and bad feelings exposed, and he would be grateful for it. It was the first step to healing. 

_ In _ the moment, however, all he could feel was a torrent of grief that screamed like rage, and Jaskier slid to the floor to bury his face in Eskel’s chest and weep.

*--*

They were on the bed now, the worst of the crying behind them, but Eskel still ran his hands up and down Jaskier’s back, still soothing him like a spooked horse, and Jaskier couldn’t help but be grateful for it. He felt worn out and run through, and he could only imagine the  _ state  _ of poor Eskel’s shirt, used as a handkerchief to mop up his face. 

Jaskier supposed that he had spent worse times shirtless with an attractive man, but he was hard pressed to think of any. Eskel pulled him closer, and he was so very warm, and he smelled so, so good, and Jaskier was reminded, all of a sudden, why they had come up here in the first place. A hand slipped down, fingers dipping just under the edge of his trousers. 

“Forgive me if it’s badly timed, and feel free to slap me or just send me on my merry way,” Eskel’s breath fluttered over his hair, a shiver of excitement followed. “But you’re very lovely. Would you like to pick up where we left off?” 

Jaskier choked back a laugh. He’d spent a great deal of time weeping all over this man over the fact that he’d spent more than half his life in love with his brother, and he knew what he looked like after a crying jag, and honestly, his beard was very very terrible. 

“Of course I would.” He plucked at the laces holding the other’s shirt only barely closed. “Can’t you just smell it on me?”

He yelped when they rolled over, Eskel looming over him, so big, so  _ warm _ , so alike yet so different from Geralt. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean you’d be up for anything. I like to ask first, not being a bastard, and all.”

“Polite and willing to endure ugly crying,” Jaskier mused. “I may have stumbled across the perfect man.”

Eskel very efficiently undressed them both, dropping the occasional kiss onto newly revealed skin, and though Jaskier normally liked to take his time undressing himself and his partner of choice, he found that right now he had no patience for it, and was gratified to see that Eskel felt the same. 

His skin felt almost paper thin, arousal beating underneath in time with sorrow, pulse jumping in excitement and trepidation both. He raked his hands up Eskel’s sides, biting his lip when the muscles jumped and twitched. It wasn’t often he slept with someone so much taller and broader than he, and he found he liked it; resolved to put Geralt as firmly out of his mind as possible.

Never let it be said that Jaskier was anything less than an attentive lover, after all. He tightened his legs around Eskel’s waist and rolled them over again, nearly off the bed; he managed to get a foot braced on the floor, disaster averted, and revelled in the mildly shocked expression he got in return for his bit of daring.

He twisted his hips down, smearing wet on Eskel’s firm belly, and those big hands tightened on him, sharp little starbursts of not quite pain, and Jaskier shivered at the thought of bruises left behind. He shifted back, sliding his cunt over what was possibly the biggest cock in the entire world,  _ gods _ .

Jaskier worried, briefly, as he looked down, if he'd even be able to get the whole thing in, but decided he didn't quite care. He tapped a finger on the very tip, watched as it actually bounced up a bit, leaking and red and he wanted it inside him, immediately. 

The muscles on Eskel's stomach bunched and flexed as he sat up for a kiss, Jaskier was more than happy to oblige, licking at the exposed teeth and twisted scarring, sucking at the other's tongue as it slipped into his mouth, everything messy and wet, which was a sure sign of everything going well.

Eskel pressed those fangs of his into the cut of Jaskier's jaw, nipping lightly, giving a proper bite when he hit collarbone, eyes sparkling with something akin to mischief as he mercilessly sucked a red mark right where his shirt collar would rest. Jaskier hissed, yanking at thick, dark hair, pulling Eskel back so he could bite at his mouth in revenge, rolling his hips forward and then back, the head of the other's cock nestling just at his slit, exactly where he wanted it.

They both groaned when Eskel pushed in a bare inch; Jaskier reached down as he shuffled up, thrilling at how his hand only just wrapped around the girth, and he relaxed as much as he could, but it still stung when he began to sink down, hips twisting, desperate. 

_ Gods _ , he needed this, Eskel’s hands so steady at his waist, not pushing or pulling, just holding him up, sweat gathering at the base of his neck, and he cursed as he pushed himself down quickly until he was stuffed full.  _ Which may have been a bit of a mistake, _ he thought, blinking a sheen of tears from his eyes.

Eskel frowned at him, concerned, but held perfectly still, what a dear, while Jaskier internally cursed his own over-eager nature, adjusting to being spread open in, honestly, a way he wasn't used to. He was still so aroused, and pain could make sex gorgeous in a hazy sort of way, but he didn't want to hurt himself. 

Jaskier rolled his hips again, a gush of slick easing his way, his nails biting down into the chest under him, leaving marks that most certainly would be gone the next day, and he took one hand to press at his clit urgently. He got a good rhythm going, bouncing up and down, Eskel shuddering beneath him, mouth open, bitten red, looking so delicious that Jaskier had to lean down and bite it again.

He came, almost surprised at how quickly he did, cunt squeezing down on the cock fit so snugly inside. Jaskier kept making little noises, almost moans,  _ ah ah ah!  _ He would have been embarrassed, but Jaskier usually left that sort of thing to other people. He yelped when he was pulled off and dropped on the bed, Eskel rolling over and sliding right back in, and it felt different, now, his left leg tossed over a broad shoulder, huge cock spearing all the way to the end of his cunt, and there were tears in his eyes again.

Oversensitive, he came again, crying out, hands clutching at whatever he could reach, and he had never been plowed into like this, Eskel growling, nearly, biting at Jaskier’s neck, yanking him down onto his cock with every thrust. He peaked a third time, and he would have laughed at how ridiculous that was, if he could've thought about anything besides the ache in his cunt and gut, how he just wanted more. 

Eskel had started groaning, low in his chest, his tongue lapping at the sweat pooling in the hollow of Jaskier’s throat, and he made to pull away, but Jaskier clamped down with his free leg, hissed, “Inside,  _ inside _ !” And Eskel listened, cum pumping into him in bursts that felt like fire. It seemed to last forever, Jaskier limply petting him the whole time, fingers and toes gone buzzy, limbs heavy and sated. 

When Eskel drew back, it was only far enough to look down at the mess he'd made; Jaskier summoned just enough energy to pop his hips up, knees splayed, cum bubbling up just to drip down. It was so much, too, keeping him full, and fingers scooped up the drips before they could fall, pushing the mess back inside. 

Jaskier almost wanted to squirm away from the hand keeping everything in, but it was warm, and he flopped down, tired.

"Will you stay?" He asked, eyes soft and heavy, relaxed enough for the first time in months that he was sure of a good night's rest.

Eskel dragged the blanket up to cover the both of them, kicked to the end of the bed at some point, and let out a long sigh. "For as long as you like."

*--*

They parted ways in the morning, after Jaskier had done his best to choke himself to death on Eskel’s prick, and had been fucked silly against a wall in revenge. 

It was for the best, really, and Jaskier had to admit he felt refreshed and within spitting distance of happiness. Eskel had gotten dressed first, and wasn’t it a shame, to cover up that wonderful body, but Jaskier supposed all the clothes were necessary, exposure and whatnot. He wasn’t as sure about all the spikes, and he may have been a fool, but not foolish enough to comment on a Witcher’s armor more than once.

He wandered away from the tavern, their last kiss tingling on his lips, still, and it was a little sad, wasn’t it, that he hadn’t happened upon this Witcher before the other. Although there was no reason to believe that his chattering and general presence wouldn’t wear on this man as well, until words of understanding became daggers, thrust tight under his ribs, and he was going to think of last night, and last night only, yes he was.

Jaskier resisted the urge to scratch at his face, allowed himself to feel the contentment he had felt felt when he had woken with a heavy arm over his middle, and thought about where he would go from here.

*--*

He shaved the beard.

*--*

Of course, they met again. Of course they did. Fate, destiny, whatever you'd call her, was fickle more than even he, and he ran into Eskel with alarming frequency. Sometimes they would simply sit and eat a meal together, or Eskel would watch him ply his trade til his purse was full, then drag him upstairs for a bout or three of lovemaking.

Jaskier was happy, strangely, happier than he'd been, he realized, in years. Eskel was forthright, honest, content to talk or fuck as Jaskier pleased; there was no wondering or worrying if he'd upset him with something he'd say, because if he did, Eskel would calmly tell him. 

Eskel, who was gentle. Kind, soft spoken and level headed, and they fit in the way Jaskier had thought he and Geralt could, if only they could have properly spoken to each other, just once. 

He wished he could go more than a few days without thinking of Witchers. As much as he told himself otherwise, he missed Geralt like a missing limb, aching and out of balance. The pain grew easier to live with, over time, but he'd spent most of his life in love with the man, had based his most popular music pieces on him, had made plans, secret and near his heart, to confess and love him forever in some small place, only the two of them.

Eskel would watch him carefully on the few times they happened to meet on the road, traveling the same way, or near enough. He wondered if Witchers could smell grief. He wondered if they could smell heartbreak. Or anger. 

Then he would think of Geralt, who had seemed bewildered and repulsed by his own emotions, and then think perhaps that Eskel was simply observant, and a bit more well socialized. Of course, there were feral cats with better people skills than Geralt of Rivia.

It was difficult not to compare the two, and the more times he crossed paths with Eskel the more he became aware of a certain softness of feeling, blooming up in his chest, so unlike the instant spark he’d felt with Geralt, which had dampened over time into a steady burn. 

If asked, Jaskier would admit to caring for his new friend, but he was wary of the word ‘love’, when it had ended so terribly for him the last time. 

He’d gotten horribly drunk once, early on in their acquaintance, camped out in the woods with Eskel, too much wine and not enough food, nostalgia pricking at his heartstrings, spent hours talking the poor bastard’s ear off about his brother. Everything Geralt had done, or not done, said or not said, the few times he’d struck Jaskier just so  _ he’d shut up for one damn minute, he was going to get them killed, _ Eskel’s face growing more grim with every slurred confession.

Jaskier could dimly remember asking if there was anything that Eskel didn’t like about him, begged him to be honest, just so they could get all of that out of the way before it could pile up into a nightmare he would be left to deal with alone, but the other man just made sure he drank some water before putting him to bed, said, "I'm glad you got rid of that beard. Really wasn't your best look, even if it was agreeably scratchy," and laid beside him while he grumbled under his breath. 

The next morning brought a headache, and embarrassment, but a new sense of relief. Jaskier decided then, with Eskel breathing wetly on the back of his neck, that no matter how miserably his last adventure had ended, this one deserved a chance. 

*--*

Jaskier poured another bucket of water over Eskel's head, wanting to make sure his lover was absolutely spotless for his debut, as it were. It certainly was convenient, he mused, travelling more or less together with a Witcher, which he already knew, and not having to pay for a bodyguard at large events. 

Eskel had even volunteered, bless his sweet soul, and was allowing himself to be groomed with minimal complaint. He, obviously, was more comfortable in his armor than out, especially when being forced to mingle with a large number of people, but Jaskier didn't hold it against him. 

He would, however, be choosing the clothes. Lovely as the man was, Eskel thought spikes were suitable for all occasions. A black shirt under a blood red doublet, dark trousers tucked neatly into a pair of sturdy leather boots. Nothing atrocious, or so out of character as to make him uncomfortable. Plenty of spots to strap down a knife or some other small weapon. He wasn’t heartless.

Jaskier took his time washing Eskel’s hair, making sure to gently comb out all the tangles and massaging his scalp. The Witcher was almost purring, shoulders relaxed, head lolling back. He parted it to the side, then slicked it back using as little oil as possible. He wanted Eskel to look himself, but he was very excited at the chance to dress him up a bit. 

There wasn’t anything wrong with looking one’s best. Jaskier certainly did, color on his lips and glitter smeared over his cheeks. His own outfit toed the line of outrageous, as bright as Eskel’s was dark, golden thread embroidered into curling leaves and branches, glimmering in the light. He was planning to play and dance for hours, had commissioned a new pair of boots so as to spare his feet any blisters, had made sure to eat his fill so he would only need to snack, if he felt hungry at all.

Eskel rolled his shoulders once, and squinted dubiously at his own face in the mirror. “I feel ridiculous, you know. Are you sure I can’t just wear what I always do?”

“You look marvelous, darling, stop your fussing or you’ll ruin all my hard work.” Jaskier pressed a sticky kiss to Eskel’s cheek, grinning at the mark he left behind. “Don’t worry that gorgeous head of yours, honestly. We’re going to have a good time, and we’re going to dance with some very pretty women, or men, and after everything is done, you’re going to take me back here and fuck me so stupid I won’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow.”

Yellow eyes darkened to gold, and a careful hand snaked around his waist. “We could just stay here and do that. Who needs all those people anyways?”

Jaskier let himself be pulled in, just a bit. “I do. I want their money, so I can buy a decent bottle of wine with which to seduce you with.”

Eskel chuckled. “I’m already seduced, if you couldn’t tell.” He leaned in, like he was sharing a secret. “You could have me whenever or wherever you want, you know.”

“You are worth repeated seduction, dear, now stop tempting me.” Jaskier kissed him once more before he slipped away to grab his lute and purse. 

Unlucky for him, Eskel caught a look in the mirror right before they left, but he would argue that the slap on the arse was worth the expression the Witcher made when he realized Jaskier had covered his mouth and cheek in red marks.

*--*

He dragged Eskel away from the ballroom, into somewhere dark and closed in, trusting the other musicians to keep people entertained long enough for him to have some fun. He even reapplied his makeup before he grabbed his lover, as a treat. 

Jaskier didn’t bother with kissing, not wanting to make a noticeable mess, and dropped to his knees as soon as he was sure they were safe, looking up at Eskel in the dim light that filtered from underneath the crack under the door. His pupils had widened in the lack of light, and Jaskier knew Witchers could see very well in the dark, even without their foul little potions. 

He unlaced Eskel's trousers, pulling them just far enough to get his cock out, already plumping up, got his mouth around it before Eskel could do more than gasp, and he really did love this. A hand in his hair, big enough to cup the entire back of his head, fingers tangled but not pulling. Yet.

Jaskier moaned, just to watch his Witcher shudder, biting his lip in an effort to stay quiet, chest heaving, and the fingers tightened in what could have been a warning, not that that would put Jaskier off his current task. He laid his hands on the other’s thighs, leaned forward until he couldn’t breath, swallowing around Eskel’s cock, tears pricking at his eyes, kept going until his nose hit wiry hair, and he was gagging now, but the goddess herself wouldn’t have been able to stop him.

“Fuck! Do you know what you look like?” Eskel groaned, head thunking back into the wall. “Gods, I wanted to fuck your mouth the moment you put that pretty color on. Did you know? Did you do it for me?”

Jaskier pulled off, gasping. “Yes. I want you to use me, please? I made myself so pretty for you, don’t I deserve a reward? Fuck my mouth?”

Eskel looked like someone knocked him upside the head, but he slid both his hands into Jaskier’s hair, gripping tight, pushed in, and it was gorgeous. He was crying now, and he would have to bow out early, his throat already sore, and it was stupid of him to do this, but why should he care? 

This was the most fun he'd had in ages, and he didn't protest when Eskel pulled him roughly away, his normally sweet man gaining a sharper edge. "Get your fucking trousers off," he growled, mouth pushing against his, red smeared over his lips, over his cock. "Before I tear them off."

"Oh, bossy," Jaskier yanked his shirt up with one hand, popping the buttons on his trousers with the other, but Eskel spun them around before he was done, bent him at the waist, cock resting on his back, wet with spit and precum. "That's very rude, and I've been so good." He braced his hands against the wall, still, excited at this abrupt turn of events.

A hand pushed his trousers down, and he heard a sharp intake of breath when it was discovered that he hadn't bothered with smalls. He stood on tiptoe, legs spread as far as they could trapped in his clothes, gave a little wiggle, got himself a gentle swat on the bottom, but also a cock pushing into him, which had been the point. 

Eskel put a hand over Jaskier’s mouth, trying to quiet the sounds Jaskier was unashamedly making, shifted his legs further apart; started really putting his back into his thrusting. An arm round his middle kept him steady as he clawed at the wall, and he was already coming, hard, cunt spasming.

“You’re gonna go back out there dripping,” Eskel spoke in between biting at Jaskier’s neck, and that hurt, it really did, but it made everything sweeter. “Everyone will smell it, what we did, they’re going to be jealous of whatever lucky bastard got his prick in you. I can smell them, when they look at you. You’re so beautiful, you know? But it’s  _ me _ you’re with right now, it’s  _ me _ fucking you, it’s  _ me _ that’s gonna fill you up. Gods, you’re wet, I can feel how much you want this.”

Jaskier was sobbing now, toes curling in his boots, heart racing; he wanted it, wanted to be fucked til he was sloppy and full of cum, wanted to hold it in him so he could  _ stay _ full, wanted to be sore and happy with it. Eskel rubbed at his clit for him, always so good to him, but was rougher than usual, less careful, and that was  _ exactly  _ what he needed, how did he know?

His trousers were probably ruined, covered in the slick that nearly gushed out of him as he orgasmed again; Eskel tore his hands away from his mouth and cunt so he could roughly shove them up his shirt, pinching meanly at his nipples, and he rolled right over the edge with a mangled shout. 

It felt like victory when Eskel stuttered to a stop, his own orgasm a quiet thing, as always, panting and slow. Jaskier loved this feeling, cum hot and slippery in him, and he'd come prepared this time, with a little toy specially made just for him. 

He took it from his purse, slid it in while Eskel watched, cock still hard, eyes still hungry. His trousers weren't such a wreck, after all, and it was easy enough to fix his clothes back into place. He was fit enough to go to play a few more sets, before he approached his hosts to bow out early with a little dignity.

Eskel helped him clean the wax and tears off his face, carefully smeared the glitter into swirls along his cheekbones, not bothering to clean himself up before tucking his prick out of sight. Thankfully most of Jaskier's mess had dripped on the floor; he didn't feel guilty about it, these floors had probably seen worse. 

They returned to the party, Jaskier shamelessly well fucked, Eskel staying close enough to whisper to him about what he would do to him when they were properly alone, later. 

Jaskier’s heart was full, sweetly brimming with a bright feeling, pressing chaste kisses to Eskel’s cheek, laughing when he wiped the color away, grumbling. He stopped fighting the feeling off, let himself drown in it, letting himself trust Eskel. 

He was happy, here, in this place, with this man. He knew that they each had their own plans on how to spend their winter months, apart, Jaskier teaching and Eskel resting at Kaer Morhen. 

But they would meet again, and Eskel would pull Jaskier out of whatever trouble he would manage to get himself into, and Jaskier would sing Eskel to sleep, as close together as he could squeeze them. 

He was so looking forward to it. 

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I have no beta, so if you spot some atrocious typos hanging around, ruining the reading experience, let me know ;]


End file.
